


The Searches

by Esthree



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 20:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7546189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esthree/pseuds/Esthree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Thorin heard from the caravaneers about some wacky one-eyed dwarf they had met on their way in the human village north of the Shire he dropped everything, and rushed off, leaving behind unfinished work and his sister heavy with her first child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Searches

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt - Encounters with othe races.
> 
> Once again thanks to Saetha for being such a wonderfulbeta <3

  
Dwalin’s pony stumbled and swayed. It seemed that his front leg had slipped into the rut now invisible under the thick layer of snow, and Dwalin swore heartily. It had been snowing for hours by now. His bald head was somehow protected by the hood, but nothing could protect his beard and mustache; with every exhale the snow melted and got frozen immediately, forming little icicles in his facial hair. 

He didn’t have it in him to be angry anymore. And with whom anyway? With Dís – for not being able to hold Thorin back? Or with Thorin himself? When he’d heard from the caravaneers about some wacky one-eyed dwarf they had met on their way in the human village north of the Shire he’d dropped everything, and had rushed off, leaving behind unfinished work and his sister heavy with her first child. Surely he must have known that Dwalin would come back in few days. Why hadn’t he waited for him? And now Dwalin was uncertain about what should be his biggest concern: Thorin possibly coming across some thugs in the North or him missing the guide sign on the crossroads and getting himself lost in those hobbit kitchen-gardens. 

At first Dwalin had been lucky: when he’d got down to the foothills, the frost had just broke out. His piebald mare had been trotting fast on the hard ground, and there were the hoofprints of Thorin’s red pony clearly visible in the frozen mud – Dwalin would have been able to tell those horseshoes from thousands of others.

And then on the fourth night he had dozed off in the saddle. When he’d been startled awake because of some rustling noise, the world around him was white, covered with snow, only mile stones visible on the borders of the road under the high snow caps.

Being as stubborn as the dwarves themselves his mare was still trailing along, dragging her legs from deep snowdrifts, and Dwalin nearly missed the inconspicuous road sign, almost indiscernible as the twilight was growing thick. About one mile further down on the side road he saw several small cottages with round doors painted in bright colours standing along the way. Further down there was a high snow-covered hill with dozens of lit round windows, making it look like a giant cheese. Dwalin looked around and spotted the local inn with a fat green lizard smiling from the sign board – a dragon if one would believe the lettering. The kind that could be seen after having drunk a keg of beer, evidently.

***

Dwalin emptied his mug and banged it down on the counter.

“Tell me, sir, did you see a dwarf on a red pony here at your inn lately? Black-haired, with a short beard.” 

The hobbit behind the counter – red-faced and round like a keg of beer himself – just shrugged and put another mug in front of Dwalin:

“I’ve seen many people here. What’s you interest in this?”

Dwalin took a silver coin out of his pocket and turned it thoughtfully in his fingers.

“He owes me.”

The innkeeper nodded knowingly.

“Oh, yes, one should find his owe. There was a dwarf master who came here yesterday after the sunset. He wanted to go on at once, but his pony was far too weary, like yours. So he had to stay over the night.”

“And where was he going?”

“Well, he headed…” the hobbit scratched his head. “Can’t recall it quite right…”

Dwalin sighed and reached for his pocket again. The innkeeper smacked himself on his forehead.

“Ah, yes! He was looking for a hunter’s village in the North. I explained the entire way to him in detail: how to get to the river and where to take the side road. And told him that he’d better not go alone – there were wolves seen roaming through the woods of late, and not only wolves.”

Dwalin finished his ale and wiped away the remaining foam from his moustache. 

“Now tell me, where I can buy the pony here?”

***  


The black pony with smooth glossy sides seemed to have stayed too long in the stable. Now he was running quickly, raising whirls of snow and tossing his dark mane. The woods across the river turned out to be not too dense and surprisingly quiet. It had long since stopped snowing, and in the bright moonlight Dwalin could see the deep hoofprints on the road. He has already resigned himself to the fact that he couldn’t catch up with Thorin before morning, when he heard exultant howling and snarling further down the road and almost immediately afterwards – wild neighing.

His pony snorted loudly, ears twitching, and backed up.

“Now then! No time to play.” Dwalin raised the curb rein. “Gee-up!”

Thorin, axe in his left hand and sword in his right, was constantly turning around, not letting the wolves attack him from behind. One of the beasts was lying on the trampled snow stained with blood that seemed black in the moonlight, throat gashed open. Others – there were seven or eight left – swirled around like huge grey shadows and two more were tearing apart the carcass of the red pony not far away. 

Dwalin jumped off own his pony, chopping the head off the wolf that had dared to come too close to him and rushed towards Thorin taking his usual place to have his back. Together they put down another two wolves, but the beasts seemed to have gone mad either from hunger or from the smell of blood and continued to attack them. Only when Thorin managed to kill the leader, the rest of the pack turned back almost immediately and disappeared into the woods.

“Are you hurt?”

Thorin shook his head wearily. 

“They’ve torn the coat, bloody creatures.”

Dwalin looked up. Here and there the buckskin was slashed by the wolfish claws and there were long shreds of cloth hanging off his shoulder.

The black pony was nowhere to be seen. Dwalin thought he might have run back to his previous owner. He spat and resigned himself to covering the rest of the way by foot. In the morning when he was dozing off by the fire side by side with Thorin who had fallen asleep with his head on Dwalin’s shoulder, he almost jumped up when something sniffed loudly right into his ear. The malicious black creature was standing nearby as though it was him who had overpowered the whole wolf pack yesterday.

They reached the village without further incidents. As Dwalin had suspected it turned out that the one-eyed fellow wasn’t Thrain, nor even a dwarf – just a crippled old man with a hump. Local people considered him to be a soothsayer. He stared at them with his dull muddy eye, then raised his hand and pointed a bunchy finger at Thorin.

“You are looking for the wrong thing. In the wrong place. Gold awaits you at home.”

Thorin was scowling during the whole way back to the inn in the hobbit village where Dwalin had left his mare.

The inn keeper put a jug of beer along with a plate full of meat on the table and winked at Dwalin:

“So, I guess you’ve got your debt?”

When he returned to his place behind the bar Thorin filled his mug and snorted.

“Couldn’t come up with something better?”

“Next time I’ll be telling the one about the bride on the run.”

Thorin glared at him and then burst out laughing. Soon they both were guffawing and pounding on the table so that the plates were jumping, the worried inn keeper casting them a sidelong glance from behind the counter. 

When they returned to the Blue Mountains, it turned out that Dís had just given birth to a child. Thorin was holding a wee boy in his hands, caressing his fair curls with his breath caught in his throat and whispering:

“My gold…”   



End file.
